


Fragments of a Past Reality

by todd_casil



Category: jthm - Fandom
Genre: Blood, FUCK, Johnny the homicidal maniac - Freeform, i cant spell, ii mean, its jthm, what do you expect, woot woot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todd_casil/pseuds/todd_casil





	1. Chapter 1

Squee leaves the house as he zips up his sweater and rests Shmee on top of his head. He breathes in the fresh spring air and sighs happily. He smiles and strides down the sidewalk.   
Ever since the snow melted, Squee’s been walking around a lot more. When he was a kid, he was pretty scared of walking around the city- for obvious reasons- and he still is a little nervous, but the freedom he feels overtakes that.   
Besides, he knows what he’s capable of now.  
After a few minutes of silent walking, a man suddenly steps in front of him from an alley. He is clearly hopped up on something and probably spends a lot of time tormenting cute, defenseless children. Just looking at him makes Squee’s skin crawl.  
“Hey, kid,” the man croaks as he scratches his arms, “you’re quite a ways from home, aren’t you.”  
“Not really,” Squee replies. And it’s true. If he ran he could make it home in less than five minutes.  
“You’re kind of cute for a boy,” he purrs, “not many like you around here.”  
“Want me to take care of him?” Shmee asks.  
“There’s no need for that,” Squee replies.  
“Of course there is,” the man says, “there should definitely be more cute boys like you.”  
“Why don’t you come with me, kid?” he suggests, “I uh got something to show you.”  
“I don’t think so. I’m not supposed to go with strangers,” Squee says.  
“That’s very good. There are lots of messed up people around here,” the man nods.  
“Indeed,” Squee sniffs, “I’m sorry, but I gotta get going.”  
Something inside the man snaps. “You’re not going anywhere!” he shouts and jumps at Squee. He easily dodges by jumping the side, causing the man to slam face first into the cement. Squee doesn’t stick around to see if he’s okay; he just runs away down the street.  
Once he’s a safe distance away, he stops and checks behind him. No sign of the creep. Squee sighs and continues walking.  
“You should’ve let me snap that guy’s neck,” Shmee grunts.  
“It’s fine, Shmee,” Squee smiles, “I doubt he’ll live very long anyway, with his lifestyle.”  
“You’re much too lenient,” the bear comments.  
Squee just smiles as he reaches his destination; Café Latte. The bell dings as he steps through the door.  
“Welcuh-Squeakers!” Samantha exclaims happily and pats his head. “It’s so good to see you. Why don’t you go take a seat with Tenna and we’ll be sure to get you something sweet and delicious.”  
“Thanks, Samantha,” Squee smiles as he walks through the restaurant.  
“Morning, Squee,” Tenna sings as Squee sits across from her.  
“Morning,” he greets back.  
“Hey, guys,” Devi yawns as she rests to glasses of chocolate milk on the table. “Where’s Johnny?”  
“Not sure,” Squee replies, “he was gone when I woke up. He left a note that said he’ll be back tonight.”  
“What? Wait, so you just walked here?” she snaps, “that’s dangerous.”  
“Nah, it was uneventful,” he lies and takes a quick drink of his milk.  
“I wonder why Johnny would just disappear for a day without any reason,” Tenna mutters.  
“With him, it’s probably better not to ask,” Devi grunts.

Assuming the road conditions are normal, the lights are favorable, and there’s no traffic, it would take a normal person about half an hour to drive from one end of the city to another.  
Now factor in other drivers and the always uncooperative traffic lights, and that’s about another half hour.  
For Johnny, with his road rage and the fact that he always seems to be surrounded by stupid assholes who can’t drive, it’s about double that.  
Normally Johnny tries to stay away from the North End, what with all the overconfident middle class-to-rich assholes who all have that ‘I’m better than you’ attitude, it’s really not good for his stress level.  
But there are exceptions and today just happens to be an annual one. But he’s not really sure why.  
For as long as he can remember- which really isn’t that long- he’s gone to the North Cemetery every year on this day, May 11. And he only has a vague idea why.  
Johnny steps out of his car and glares at the large, fancy metal gate in front of him. The North Cemetery is way nicer than the South Cemetery, which honestly doesn’t bother him, but he doesn’t see a point in making a graveyard pretty.  
His straightens his jacket and dusts off his pants before marching into the cemetery. More evidence that today is special to him- for whatever reason- is how he’s dressed. Instead of his usual clothes, he’s actually dressed somewhat formally: black dress shoes, black dress pants, white button-up shirt, and a black blazer. May 11 is one of the few things from his past he remembers. He feels he should show some respect.  
Another thing he remembers is more related to why he’s here. But it’s more like muscle memory. If he leaves control of his body to his feet, they’ll lead him straight to a gravestone that is somehow connected to this day.   
Johnny stares at the grave, a solemn expression on his face. The name etched into the stone is one that makes him feel rather lonely, though he has no idea why.  
‘Sheri Cessation.’  
Johnny doesn’t know why every year on May 11 he visits Miss Sheri. He doesn’t how the name and date are connected. He doesn’t even know who Miss Sheri is. All he remembers is this date and this gravestone.  
Miss Sheri is not alone in the graveyard. She has a neighbor. Right next to her is another gravestone marked with ‘Tammie Cessation.’  
Johnny doesn’t recognize the name at all. He’s tried to dig into his memory, looking for something related to Miss Tammie, but he hasn’t found a thing. He feels kind of guilty for that.   
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Hello, I’m back,” he says, “how are you doing? Is death treating you well?”  
“A lot of stuff has happened since we last met. I battled an otherworldly, under-worldly force. I didn’t really win though; they’re still tormenting me. But it’s not as bad so I guess we’ll call it a draw.”  
“Also I think I might’ve, kinda, sorta, made some new friends, maybe,” he stammers, “I don’t know. It’s a really odd feeling. But I feel like I can talk freely around them. Kind of like how I am with you. The only difference is you can’t talk back.”  
He stops and scratches his neck, somewhat guiltily. “But um I think today will be the last time I visit you. I won’t be coming back next year. I’m sorry for that.”  
He stares at the gravestone, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I’ve tried to remember you: who you were, what you looked like, what you meant to me. But I had absolutely no success. I can’t keep chasing a past I don’t remember. Especially now that I’ve got a future to worry about.”  
“See I’ve kind of got a kid now. Well, he’s more like a little brother. And even though he’s far from a handful, I just really feel he deserves all of my focus. You know?”  
“I hope you understand. And I hope you watch over us. Unless you hate me. Then you don’t have to bother,” Johnny concludes.  
He stares at the grave, as if waiting for her to answer. He starts to reach forward to pat it, but stops short and curls his fingers back. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.  
“Excuse me? Can I help you?”  
Johnny turns at the sudden voice, slightly disturbed. Not many people can sneak up on him like that.  
Standing behind him is a middle-aged, gentle looking man with short, nicely combed air and brown eyes covered by eyeglasses. Beside him is a young boy with matching eyes and hair. Both are dressed rather nicely.  
Johnny has seen these two visit Miss Sheri’s grave every year on this day as well. He’s not sure who they are. He’s never ran into them before. So either they’re earlier than usual or Johnny took a little longer.  
“No, I’m sorry. Please excuse me,” he mutters as he starts to walk by.  
“Wait,” the man orders, “do you know these two?” He points to the gravestones.  
“No. Well… maybe? It’s complicated,” Johnny replies, “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Excuse me.”  
He bows his head apologetically before turning away and speed walking to his car. He doesn’t know who that man is, but something about him makes him uncomfortable. He just wants to get to his car and-.  
Johnny stares at the front tires of his car, surprised at first but that quickly dissolves to plain, old annoyance. He sighs and looks down the road as a man with a steak knife races away. Fortunately he’s stupid enough to look back and Johnny files away his face for later.  
Johnny sighs again as he kneels down and runs his finger across the slashed rubber of his tire. Both of them are slashed. He can’t drive home now.  
“I can never get a break,” he groans as he stands back up.  
“Excuse me. Are you okay?”  
Johnny looks back at the man from earlier. He and his son are standing right behind him.   
Johnny’s stomach ties into a hundred knots and he tries his very best to hide his irritation.  
“Yes, I’m fine,” he replies.  
“Your tires are slashed,” the man points out.  
It takes every bit of will power he has not to make a snappish remark. “Yes, but I’m fine.”  
“Do you need help? I could call a tow truck.”  
“No, thanks. I don’t have much money on me.”  
“Then let me at least buy you lunch,” the man insists.  
“Why are you so intent on helping me?” Johnny asks, “you don’t even know me.”  
“I don’t have to know you to help you,” he shrugs.  
Johnny blinks, taken aback. Goddammit, this man’s got a heart of gold. He can’t fight against that.  
“Fine. Lunch,” he sighs, “I am kind of hungry.”  
The man smiles and leads him to his car. Johnny sits in the passenger seat while the little boy sits in the back. He keeps staring at him with curiosity, but it doesn’t bother him.  
“By the way, my name is Clarence Cessation,” the man says, “that’s my son, Mack. What’s your name?”  
Cessation. So they’re related to Miss Sheri.  
“Johnny C,” he replies.  
“C? Does it stand for anything?” Clarence asks.  
“Nope. Just C.”  
A few minutes later the three of them are sitting at a table in a small but fancy restaurant. As Johnny looks around the elegant building he can’t help but think that Café Latte is better.  
Clarence seems like a very outgoing and trusting person. Even though they’ve just met, it didn’t take him long to start talking about his family.  
“Sheri Cessation was my wife and Tammie was my eldest daughter,” he explains, “today is Sheri’s birthday.”  
Oh, her birthday. Well that explains the connection between this day and that gravestone. But how did I know that?  
“We had three children. Our eldest, Tammie, our middle child, Johnathan, and Mack, the youngest. It happened over eleven years ago. Tammie and Sheri were murdered.”  
The muscles in Johnny’s back immediately tighten up. Murdered? Oh, shit. Did I-?  
“Mack and I were out shopping and Johnathan was at school. The murderer broke into our house and shot both of them in the head,” Clarence mutters, his voice cracking.  
Johnny’s muscles slowly relax. They were shot. So I probably didn’t do it.  
“Mack was just a baby so he doesn’t remember it. Johnathan changed though. He got there before I did so I couldn’t do anything to prepare him for it.”  
“But, well, Johnathan wasn’t exactly a normal boy to begin with,” he rambles, “he didn’t have any friends, didn’t really like people, and didn’t care for many activities. He loved drawing though. And he could create some real masterpieces.”  
“He was bullied a lot though. He never talked to me about it, I heard from his teachers. He was also overly curious about things like blood and death.”  
“But after Sheri and Tammie died, he changed. He had a really bad temper and got into fights all the time. He even put some kids in the hospital,” he sighs, “I could never reach him. He was my son and there was nothing I could do to help him. Still, I loved him.”  
Clarence clears his throat and looks at Johnny with surprise, like he just remembered he’s there too. He smiles, embarrassed, and looks away.  
“But you don’t want to hear me ramble. Especially about my family,” he says apologetically.  
“To be honest it didn’t really bother me,” Johnny shrugs.  
“So tell me about yourself, Johnny. Do you live nearby?” Clarence asks.  
“No, I live in the South End,” he replies.  
Clarence and Mack’s face fill with surprise. That’s it. That’s the judgemental look all North Enders get when they meet a South Ender.  
Johnny chuckles humourlessly and takes a bite out of his chicken. The expressions don’t bother him. As a South Ender, he knows exactly what kind of people live down there.  
“My friend, Terry, says that monsters live on the South End and that it’s really dangerous,” Mack says.  
“Terry’s not exactly wrong,” Johnny replies, “the South End can be very dangerous and it’s not suited for many people.”  
“So why do you live there?” he asks.  
Johnny smirks. “Because it suits me just fine.”  
Clarence watches Johnny curiously as he eats his fried chicken. Since they met he’s been trying to figure out who this young man is. Why was he at Sheri’s grave?  
“I’m sorry for bring this up again, but I need to know,” he says sternly, “who are you, really? Why were you at Sheri’s grave, today of all days? How do you know her?”  
Johnny looks at him with surprise. His face darkens and he gently pokes at his food as he tries to think of a suitable answer. She’s the guy’s wife. He deserves some sort of explanation.  
“I don’t know,” he admits, “the truth is I don’t really remember much of my past. Or any of it actually. One of the few things I remember is this date, May 11, and Miss Sheri’s gravestone. I had no idea who she was or that today is her birthday until you told me.”  
“Amnesia?” Clarence questions.  
“I guess,” he shrugs, “my sleep doctor told me that I probably suffered some sort of trauma that caused me to lose my memories. I have no idea what Sheri meant to me, or what I meant to her. But her gravestone and this day are some of the few things I actually remember and I thought I should show her that respect.”  
He drops the fork and his arms slump to his sides. “But even so, seeing her grave or just saying her name makes me feel really lonely.”  
Clarence stares with surprise at the sad look on Johnny’s face. But it’s not so much the expression that has him bewildered. It’s his eyes. The dark colour is quite similar to his wife’s.  
“Johnathan,” he whispers.  
“What?” Johnny questions.  
“Oh, nothing,” he says quickly.  
Johnny cocks his head curiously but doesn’t question it. He stretches his arms to the ceiling and perks up. “Anyway, I think this will be the last time I visit her.”  
“Why’s that?” Clarence asks.  
“I can’t keep looking for a past I no longer remember,” he replies, “it’s a fruitless search. It’s about time I give up. Besides, I have a new reality now; new priorities. I need to focus entirely on that.”  
Clarence stares blankly. Johnny has a peculiar way of speaking. It reminds him of somebody else.  
“I understand,” he nods then asks, “do you have someone you can call for help then?”  
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Johnny mutters uncertainly.  
“Would you like to borrow my cell phone?” Clarence suggests as he pulls it out.  
“Sure, thank you,” Johnny nods as he takes the phone. He turns away from the table and dials Devi’s cell number.  
“Hello?” she answers curiously.  
“Hey, it’s Johnny,” he grunts.  
“Oh, hey. Are your ears burning?” she laughs.  
“You were talking about me again?” he snaps.  
“It’s hard not to. You should feel honoured,” she snorts, “so what’s up?”  
“Are you busy?”  
“Not really. I just got on break. Why?”  
“Can you come pick me up? My tires got slashed.”  
Johnny snarls as Devi starts laughing out loud, and making no attempt to hide that fact.  
“Oh, fuck, that’s funny,” she sniffs, “yeah, sure. I’ll come get you. Where are you?”  
“The North End,” he replies.  
“The North End? What are you doing all the way over there?” she exclaims.  
“Just… visiting someone,” he mutters, “don’t worry about. Can you come get me or not?  
“Sure. Where should we meet?”  
“The North Cemetery.”  
“Okay. We’ll be there in about an hour,” she says affirmatively.  
“Wait, we? Devi, don’t-!” Before he can even finish, Devi hangs up. He scoffs and slams the phone on the table. “Fucking woman.”  
“Everything okay?” Clarence asks as he puts his phone away.  
“Yeah. They’re going to meet me at the cemetery,” Johnny replies.  
“Then how about we visit Sheri again? Say goodbye?” he suggests.  
He smiles such a kind and gentle smile. Damn his kindness. Johnny just cannot find it in himself to deny him.  
“Alright,” he nods.  
Clarence pays for the bill and leads Mack and Johnny back to the car. They drive back to the cemetery in relative silence. Johnny stills feels uncomfortable around Clarence for some reasons. It’s not getting worse, but it hasn’t gotten better. Johnny’s just adapting to it.  
Clarence parks his car right behind Johnny’s and leads the boys to the Miss Sheri’s grave. Mack never knows how to feel around his mom and sister’s graves. But he always feels bad for his dad, who always looks depressed.  
Clarence stares down at Sheri’s grave and sighs miserably. She was the center of their universe, the only person who could keep their family together. And she and Tammie died, everything fell apart.  
He misses her.  
Clarence glances at Johnny curiously. He’s staring at the grave, a sort of sadness mixed in with his usual scowl.  
He gasps. Suddenly he’s not looking at Johnny C but at his son, Johnathan Cessation. The expression on Johnny’s face is eerily similar to the one Johnathan wore at his mother’s funeral.  
Clarence swallows hard and he reaches towards him. His hand stops short, almost like it hit a wall. He quickly pulls his arm back and looks away.  
Johnny senses movement to his right and he quickly turns around. Both Clarence and Mack are completely still.  
Johnny sighs and starts to turn away, but stops when he notices Devi’s car pull up outside the cemetery.  
“They got here quick,” he comments.  
“That’s your ride?” Clarence asks.  
“Yeah,” Johnny nods and faces him. “Thank you for your help as well as buying me lunch.”  
“You’re welcome,” Clarence smiles, “and you know you’re more than welcome to visit Sheri as much as you like.”  
Johnny’s face clouds over as he glances back at Miss Sheri’s grave. But then he looks back at the car and notices a certain little squeaker looking around with awe, and a small appears on his face.   
“Yeah. But like I said before, I’ve got a new reality now,” he says.  
“I see. Well then,” Clarence smiles and sticks out his hand. “It was nice to you meet you, Johnny. I hope we meet again.”  
Johnny doesn’t even glance at the outstretched hand, like he doesn’t even notice. He just half waves as he turns away. “Yeah. Bye.”  
Clarence’s hand falls to his side as he watches Johnny walk away to the three slightly odd looking people at the car. His face fills with sadness and happiness at the same time, and he sighs.  
“I knew he was alive. The police said otherwise, but I always knew,” he mutters.  
His hand rests on Sheri’s grave and he smiles sadly. “What would you do, Sheri? Would you run after him? Would you tell him who he really is, who we really are? Would you hug him tight and never let him go?”  
He watches as Johnny meets with his friends. The young boy looks incredibly excited to see him. The purple haired girl seems rather annoyed. The tan skinned girl just looks naturally happy to begin with.  
Johnny smiles at them, though it’s more of a sarcastic grin. They talk amongst themselves for a bit before the purple haired girl says something and Johnny laughs.  
“No, I don’t think you would,” Clarence mutters, “especially knowing that he doesn’t remember us. He looks happy with his new friends. You wouldn’t want to risk ruining that.”  
“Besides, he’s an adult now. He doesn’t need us anymore,” he smiles sadly, “but still, I’m a little sad that I can’t help him. Even then, when you died or when he disappeared; when now, when he was so close to me. I couldn’t reach him. I’m still such a useless father.”  
Clarence can’t help the tears that drip down his cheeks.  
“Dad? Are you okay?” Mack asks.  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Clarence replies, quickly wiping his cheeks. “Come on, let’s go home. I’ll buy you ice cream.”  
Mack cheers excitedly and Clarence smiles. At least he still has one child he can take care of.  
Meanwhile Johnny trots down the hill to Devi, Tenna, and Squee. Tenna is taking pictures of his slashed tired, but immediately stops when he shows up.  
“Devi, I didn’t want you to bring everyone. If you didn’t hang up on me, you would know that,” Johnny scolds.  
“Why? Wouldn’t it be more fun this way?” Devi asks.  
“With everyone here, this’ll turn into a road trip in no time,” he scoffs.  
“Nny, I’ve never been to the North End before,” Squee says excitedly as he trots over, Shmee hanging from his arms. “Can we go exploring? I have money with me. Can we go shopping? The North End has some cool stores, right? It’ll be fun.”  
“See, Squee agrees with me,” Devi smirks.  
“Yeah, but he also just proved my point,” Johnny retorts.  
“So what’s the plan?” Tenna asks  
“I guess we can go explore for a little while,” Johnny shrugs, “hopefully we can find an automobile shop to fix my tires. And maybe even the douche who slashed them.”  
“You really think you can track down one guy in this whole city?” Devi asks sceptically.  
“I know what he looks like. Finding him is the easy part,” Johnny smirks.  
“You’re so fucking creepy,” she comments. Johnny just laughs.  
“Well, let’s go then,” Tenna cheers.  
“I call shotgun,” Johnny declares.  
“My ass!” she snaps.  
“Hey, who’s that?” Squee asks.  
Johnny turns around and sees Clarence standing next to his car, staring at him.  
Clarence lifts his hand and waves slowly, a sad smile on his face.  
Johnny blinks and starts to wave back. But as he starts to lift his arm, realization hits him about fifty times.  
‘…our middle child, Johnathan.’  
‘…Johnathan wasn’t exactly a normal boy to begin with.’  
‘He loved drawing though.’  
‘He was bullied a lot though.”  
‘…curious about things like blood and death.’  
Johnny’s hand is up and waving but the rest of him is frozen. His head is exploding, like something is trying to claw its way out. His eyes trail over Clarence, a hurricane going off inside his skull.  
Something is in there. What is it? What’s trying to escape?  
“Johnny, are you okay?” Squee asks. Johnny looks down at him with surprise and snaps back into his current reality.  
“Yeah,” he breathes then turns to the car. “Come on, let’s go. I’m done here.”  
Johnny starts to reach for the passenger door, but realizes Tenna is already sitting there.  
“Tenna! I called shotgun!” he whines.  
“You snooze, you lose,” she smirks.  
Johnny growls climbs into the backseat next to Squee. Devi starts the car and they drive away.  
Johnny turns around and looks back at Clarence through the window. He and his son are climbing into their car.  
As Johnny stares at the two of them, Clarence in particular, his skull begins exploding. It hurts like a gunshot, but it’s not like his usual migraines. It’s almost concentrated, like the pain is focused completely on one little spot.  
He rubs his forehead and groans with a mixture of annoyance and pain.  
“Johnny? Are you okay?” Squee asks, “does your head hurt?”  
Johnny looks at him and the pain instantly disappears. He smiles and sits straight. “I’m fine, Squee.”  
Squee smiles back and looks out the window. Johnny scratches his head and does the same.  
There is definitely… something about Clarence that bothers Johnny. Something that causes a thing in Johnny’s head to come alive. He can’t say what that ‘thing’ is or what it is about Clarence that bothers him. But he’s not in a hurry to find out.   
He looks at Squee. He’s sitting on the other side of the bench with Shmee on his lap, a smile on his face as he watches the new surroundings go by.  
Johnny smiles and looks out his own window. He’s got a new reality now. And he decided a long time ago that, unlike in the past, he’s going to enjoy this one.


	2. Soup and a Blanket

Johnathan raced down the street, his heavy breathing turning to steam in the chilly, evening air. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he had to get as far away from that school as possible.  
He could hear sirens in the distance: police sirens, ambulance sirens. They haven’t moved in a while. They were probably still too aghast at the scene before them. No one can really walk away from a massacre without feeling anything.  
Not even the one who caused it.  
Johnathan suddenly found himself at an unfamiliar playground. He stumbled past the fence and over to a nearby water fountain. He took a quick drink and tried to wash off as much of the blood as possible.  
He was shaking like a leaf. He gripped the fountain as he started to hyperventilate. Saliva and tears mixed with the water as it spiraled down the drain.  
It flashed across his mind, bombarding all his senses. He saw the many bodies littering the floor, all the blood splattering the ceiling and walls. He smelled the rancid stench of death. He heard their cries as they told him to stop, apologizing, begging for mercy. He felt the handle of the blade in his hand, as he cut through their skin like butter.  
But most of all, he tasted the blood in his teeth. Not their blood, but his own. The very taste that provoked him to slice through that murderer’s body and caused him to have a massacre of his own.  
Johnathan took another drink of water to wash the taste out and gritted his teeth. That bastard murderer. He shot so many of his classmates just like he shot his mother and sister. And then he recognized Johnathan and had the audacity to try and beat him to death. But that became his undoing.  
Johnathan didn’t black out when he attacked that murderer and everyone else at school. He remembered every second of it. And that’s what was so painful.  
But why was it painful? What emotion was causing him to tremble like this? Regret? No. Fear? No. Sadness? No.  
It was a hard emotion to define, but as Johnathan walked over to the swing set he figured it out. He wasn’t shaking because he killed all those people. He didn’t care about them.   
No, he was shaking because he had nowhere to go now.  
He sat on a swing and sighed miserably. Yeah, that’s it. He ran away and he could never go back. He could never see his father or baby brother ever again.  
Did they really mean that much to him? After Mom and Tammie died, he didn’t feel much of anything. But did they mean something to him subconsciously?  
No, that’s not it. It was because now he was truly alone. Dad and Mack might not have been able to comfort him mentally or emotionally, but at least they were there for him physically. Now he was completely alone.  
Fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. He curled in on himself, resting his forehead on his knees, and sobbed quietly.  
“I’m… alone.”  
“Hey.”  
He looked up at the sudden voice. There was a girl not much older than him standing a few feet away. It was hard to make out her features in the growing darkness, but she had dead straight, black hair and appeared to be carrying a bag.  
“What’s a kid like you doing out here?” she asked curiously.  
“I could ask the same to you,” Johnathan mumbled.  
The girl grunted, offended, and sat on the swing beside him. “Well, if you must know, I’m going to a friend’s house. Gonna spend the night. Your turn.”  
Johnathan stared blankly at the ground and didn’t answer. But the girl didn’t give up.  
“Are you here with friends?” she asked.  
“No,” he replied.  
“Are you lost?”  
“No. Well, maybe. But I don’t really have a destination.”  
“Why don’t you go home?”  
“I don’t have a home anymore,” he muttered, “I ran away.”  
“Whoa, really? Why?” she asked then quickly retracted the question. “I’m sorry, that’s personal. You don’t have to answer.”  
“I wasn’t going to,” Johnathan murmured.  
The girl swayed back and forth on the swing, tapping her fingers on the chains. “Is that why you were crying?” she asked cautiously.  
He flinched and glared at the ground. “I guess.”  
The girl suddenly stopped swinging and looked at him. “You know, it’s not your fault!”  
Johnathan looked at her, surprised by the outburst.  
“Not directly at least,” she added, “I don’t know what happened to you to cause you to run away. But I do know that you didn’t cause it.”  
“How would you know that?” he asked.  
“Because as kids we are constantly influenced by what goes on around us,” she replied, “especially by adults.”  
“You know, adults think they rule the world just because they’re adults,” she growled, “and they view us kids all the same: as bothersome, over-imaginative burdens. And worst of all, they think we live the exact same as other kids. But they’re wrong.”  
“All kids have to go through different trials throughout their lives. And adults seem to forget that. They think that since they were once kids they know how we live. But they’re wrong.”  
“You seem to have a bit of pent up rage towards adults,” Johnathan commented.  
“Yeah. It’s mostly directed to my parents and teachers,” she nodded, “they’re always stifling my creativity. I’m a painter! Why can’t they support that?”  
“Anyway,” she sniffed, “all kids have to go through different trials in their lives to become adults. Some go through simple trials, others not so much. But if you make it through those trials and you learn from them, you’ll definitely have the potential to be a good person.”  
“A good person, huh?” Johnathan mused, “that’s a nice thought.”  
The girl stared at him with surprise. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like he was smiling. He looked so sad and lonely.  
She cleared her throat, feeling a little awkward, and stood up. “Well, I should be going. I gotta get to my friend’s house. But um before I go...”  
She reached into her bag and handed Johnathan a soft looking blanket and a Tupperware container full of soup.  
“What’s this?” he asked as he took the bundle.  
“One of my old blankets and a bowl of soup I made in Home Ec.,” she replied, “I don’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing, but I do hope everything works out. So I’d like to help any way I can.”  
He blinked. “Thank you.”  
“Good luck, kid,” she smiled and saluted. He smiled back and it was an actual, almost happy smile.  
With that the girl marched away into the darkness. Johnathan stared after her until she disappeared. Then he noticed the sirens have started moving. He should do the same.  
He hopped off the swing and climbed onto the equipment. He crawled into a large tube and curled up in his new blanket. It had a bit of wear but it was really comfortable.  
He took the lid off the Tupperware bowl. It smelled great. He dumped the contents into his mouth. It was cold but tasted fantastic.  
He snuggled up nice and warm in his current bed for the night, eating his soup and listening to the sirens. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but that’s okay. A story is always more interesting when you don’t know how it will end. But was it really possible for him to be a good person?  
Present Day  
Johnny’s eyes blink open. He sits up and rubs his head. He always wakes up with a headache.  
As he stands up, his little blanket slips of his shoulders and falls to the floor. He quickly picks it up and lays it on the bed. It’s an old blanket and it’s not long enough to cover his whole body, but he’s had it for longer than he can remember. And he likes it.  
Johnny stretches his thin arms to the ceiling. He considers changing out of his t-shirt but he can’t be bothered. Besides, Squee doesn’t mind his scars.  
Johnny yawns as he trudges out of his room and into the living room. The TV is on but the sound is turned down.  
“Morning, Nny,” Squee chimes as he exits the hall.  
Morning,” Nny grunts.  
“Morning, chicken arms.”  
Johnny stops abruptly and glares into the kitchen. “Why are you two here so early?”  
Devi and Tenna smirk brightly. “We were nice enough to bring some lunch over,” Devi explains, “since you’re both too lazy to make your own food.”  
“That’s true,” Squee nods.  
“Lunch? How long did I sleep in?” Nny asks.  
“Not long,” Squee replies, “it’s only 9. They’re early.”  
“9? Isn’t that breakfast?”  
“Soup is lunch food,” Tenna states.  
“Well, I’m hungry now,” Johnny says plainly as he sits at the table. Squee joins him, setting Shmee on the tabletop.  
“Fine, fine,” Devi shrugs as she sticks the Tupperware of soup into the microwave.  
“Did you make it?” Squee asks.  
“Yup. I learned how to in Skool,” she replies, “one of the few things that actually stuck with me.”  
When the microwave beeps, Devi dishes the soup out into four bowls. Everybody grabs their own and eats at the table.   
“Do you like it?” Devi asks.  
“Yeah, it’s good,” Squee nods.  
Johnny chews slowly, a quizzical look on his face. “It almost tastes… familiar somehow.”  
“Familiar?” Tenna questions.  
“Yeah. Like I’ve tasted it before,” he mutters.  
“Well, I learnt that recipe when I was in junior high,” Devi points out, “it’s probably pretty common.”  
“Right,” Johnny sighs. But as he eats, an odd, piercing sense of loneliness overcomes him. And it’s a familiar feeling, one he’s felt many times before.  
He groans and rubs the scar on his forehead.  
“Johnny? Are you okay?” Squee asks.  
Johnny looks at him and the loneliness immediately disappears. He smiles and nods, “yup.”  
“Good soup, Devi,” he comments, “you should work in the kitchen at the café. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to see you every time I go there.”  
“If you don’t want to see me every time you go there, then don’t go there,” Devi retorts, “simple as that.”  
“Aw, the way you two argue,” Tenna coos, “it’s like the spats of an old married couple.”  
They immediately shoot her a piercing glare that she laughs at. Squee just smiles and eats quietly.


	3. Fears and Insanity

The former Johnathan Cessation trudged through the back roads of Main Street, his ruined shoes dragging through the gravel and his blanket hanging off his shoulder.  
He was so hungry. He hadn’t had any fresh food since his first night on the streets, and that was over a week ago. Since then he had been surviving on what little he could find. And it had been very little.  
He groaned as he gripped his stomach. He had such bad hunger pains; he felt like he could throw up. He really needed to get something to eat.  
He peeked around the corner into an alley beside a pastry shop. The garbage cans were full of bags of old donuts, breads, and other wheat products. Johnathan took a quick look around then charged forward.  
He knocked over a garbage can, teared open the bag, and started eating as much as he could, as fast as he could.  
It didn’t taste that great. It was all hard and bland, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He was trying to ward off starvation.  
He flinched when he heard to door to the shop creak. He picked up an armful of donuts and scurried away like a scared animal. Once he was far enough, he slowed to a walk and nibbled at his dinner.  
He smacked his dry, cracked lip together as he took another bite. Pastries were a bad idea. They just made him thirstier than he already was. He took a quick look around and noticed a flower shop with an outside hose.  
He had become accustomed to drinking out of creeks, ponds, and hoses. It is pretty unhealthy but he couldn’t afford to be picky.  
He quickly finished off the rest of his food then rushed across the street to the flower shop. He ducked into the alley, took a quick look around, then turned on the hose.  
He stuck the nozzle into his mouth and swallowed as much as he could before choking. He took the nozzle away, coughed a bit, then continued drinking. He was too focused on this process to notice someone leave the flower shop and see him.  
“Hey! Stop that!” she snapped, “get out of here!”  
Johnathan winced and dropped the hose before running off.   
“Fucking street rat,” he heard her scoff as he turned the corner.  
He growled as he walked down the back alley. Where did she get off, judging him? She didn’t know his life.  
He sighed and pulled his blanket on tighter. He really needed a better way of getting sustenance. Digging through garbage is disgusting, especially for a germaphobe like Johnathan.  
He spotted something shiny on the ground and quickly picked it up. It was a quarter. He smiled and stuck it in his pocket with the rest of the change he had been accumulating. He didn’t have much, maybe about two dollars in nickels and dimes. Still it gave him hope. With enough money he would be able to buy actual food.   
Maybe he should dig around in a fountain. Hopeful yokels were always tossing coins in one, hoping for their wishes to come true. And Johnathan could use those coins way more than those saps could use their wishes.  
As he put deep consideration into this plan, he heard a woman scream. He stopped and looked around. There was nobody nearby so he was only one who heard it.  
He sighed and started walking but stopped when he heard it again. It was closer this time and sounded really distressed.  
He suddenly heard footsteps and saw a woman run past him, followed by a man. He caught up to her and forced her to the wall of a nearby building.  
Now Johnathan didn’t have a sense of justice; he never once thought of himself as a good guy, a hero, a gentlemen. In fact he had a very low opinion of himself. And if he were smart, he would have walked away from this. He was fifteen! What use could he be?  
But he didn’t walk away. Instead he walked towards them and snapped, “leave her alone!”  
The man looked at him with surprise then smirked. He was clearly hopped up on something; he kept twitching and had a very crazed look in his eye.  
“Oh, hello, little boy,” he hissed, “you’re cute. Come here!”  
He lunged forward and grabbed Johnathan by the neck. He screamed out in pain as he held him up against the wall.  
Johnathan gagged for breath as he clawed at the man’s wrist. He was never very strong, but the lack of food and water had completely sapped his energy. He had no hope of escaping this.  
“Wanna have a little fun? Don’t worry, I’m gentle with kids,” the man whispered as he ran his free hand down Johnathan’s chest.  
Something inside him snapped and he kicked the man in the chin. He shouted out and stumbled back, letting Johnathan go. He landed on his feet and slammed his bony fist into the man’s stomach in a single movement.  
“You sick fuck!” Johnathan barked as he kicked his legs, forcing him to the ground. He kept kicking him until he noticed something on the ground. It looked like a broken piece of wood, from a fence or something. Johnathan picked it up and stabbed it into the man’s stomach.   
He screamed in pain and tried to crawl away but Johnathan didn’t let him move an inch. He ripped the wood out and stabbed him again, this time in his arm.  
He tore apart the screaming man with the wood, causing blood to splatter everywhere, until finally the screams stopped.  
Johnathan stood up and stared down at his victim. He was barely recognizable. There wasn’t one part of his body that wasn’t scratched up or dyed crimson.  
Johnathan started trembling. His weapon fell from his hands as he looked down at himself. He was completely covered in the man’s blood. He could even taste it.  
He started hyperventilating. He looked around frantically before racing down the alley, grabbing his blanket along the way. He kept running and running until he found a pond inside a park. No one was around, thankfully. He rushed to the pond and started washing the blood.  
“I did it again. I did it again,” he said over and over. He splashed water onto his shirt but it wasn’t working. The blood wasn’t coming off. He couldn’t breathe, oh god, he couldn’t breathe.  
He started heaving as he curled in on himself in a trembling ball.  
“But it felt good, didn’t it?”  
Johnathan looked around with surprise. Who said that?  
“You liked it, didn’t you? Don’t deny it.”  
He looked at his reflection in the water. That voice wasn’t real. It was in his head.  
“Tearing that rapist apart felt good. He was a sicko who didn’t deserve to live. You did a good thing.”  
“No,” Johnathan whispered, “no, killing-killing is wrong.”  
“Oh, you don’t actually believe that. You liked it.”  
“No. No, shut up,” he snapped, “you’re not real.”  
“Killing that man was a good thing. He was trying to hurt you. Just like that murderer, and everyone at that terrible school. They all deserved to die.”  
“No! You’re wrong! Killing is wrong!” Johnathan shouted.  
“You love it.”  
“Shut up!”  
“Mommy, who’s that boy talking to?”  
Johnathan turned around. Standing a few feet away was a little boy and his mother. The little boy was pointing at him.  
“Don’t look at him. Just keep walking,” the mother whispered. But despite having said, they both just kept watching as they walked away.  
Johnathan looked away. He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and stood up. He left as quickly as he could.

Johnathan stared at the tombstones before him. They read ‘Tammie Cessation’ and ‘Sheri Cessation’.   
He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there. He arrived there at about dusk and the sun has long since set, so it must’ve been for at least a few hours.  
He hasn’t said anything. He had just been sitting in a ball in the dirt, his blanket wrapped around him.  
Finally he sat up and took a deep breath.  
“I… I did it again, Mom,” he said, his voice cracking. “I killed someone. No, I didn’t just kill. I tore him apart. I tortured him. Just like back at school. I didn’t mean to. I-I just… he was hurting this girl and-and then he tried to hurt me. He was a sicko!”  
Johnathan took another deep breath as tears priced his eyes. “I’m scared, Mom. The voices are back. Remember? You used to tell me they weren’t real. And I’m trying to believe you. I mean, other people can’t hear them. But they sure sound real to me.”  
“I don’t know what to do,” he whimpered as tears started streaming down his face. “I wish you were to help me, like you used to. I just… I’m so alone now. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”  
Johnathan stayed there the rest of the night, crying into his knees before his mother and sister’s gravestones. He always had a low opinion of himself, but never before did he feel so pathetic.


	4. Epiphanies

The former Johnathan Cessation sat in a filthy alley, his blanket pulled over his head. He barely noticed the people walking by, living their lives. They barely noticed him.  
He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there. Hours? Days? He wasn’t even sure how he got there. After his breakdown at his mother and sister’s gravestones, the last few days went by like a haze, as if he was looking through a screen door.  
He still wasn’t any better. He felt scared. Lonely. Broken. Just all around pathetic.  
He stared emotionlessly as the ground, listening to the chatter of everyday life and his own breathing. It was starting to get dark out. People were heading home from work or school or wherever else people go during the day. He probably would’ve stayed there for a while longer if his back wasn’t starting to hurt.  
He stood up, dusted the dirt off his pants, and walked off. To where, he didn’t know.  
“Hey, Johnny. When was the last time you’ve eaten? You should eat something. This isn’t good for you, you know.”  
Johnathan winced. For a while now he had been hearing a voice in his head. Or maybe it was multiple voices. He couldn’t tell.   
He wasn’t sure what to make of them. What did they mean? Why did they exist? He tried to ignore them, but it was hard.  
This wasn’t the first time he heard voices. He heard them when he was younger too. They scared him. When he told his mom, she assured him they weren’t real. And he believed her. For a long time he didn’t hear them again.   
So why have they returned? What triggered them?  
Johnathan takes these questions into consideration but not for very long. It’s too exhausting to think. He just doesn’t have the energy.  
When the sun has disappeared behind the horizon, he reaches his destination. A destination he didn’t know he was heading to.  
He stopped and stared up at the building. The sign read ‘North Arc High School’.  
Johnathan’s stomach tied into a billion knots as he looked around. Why was he here? He shouldn’t have been here. Somebody would catch him.  
But he didn’t see anybody. The street was completely empty.  
Johnathan looked back at the school. The entire perimeter had been blocked off by police do-not-cross-tape. He ducked under it and walked through the yard to the front door. He pushed on it, but it didn’t budge.   
Well, he didn’t really expect it to open. Fortunately, he knew of a secret way in.  
He trudged through the schoolyard, around to the back to a shed. He tried to open it but it was locked too. He sighed and backed away before kicking down the door. He kneeled over for a second, panting for breath. He really had no stamina left.  
After he caught his breath, Johnathan walked into the shed and pushed aside a large box, revealing a small, wooden door in the floor. He opened it and dropped into the darkness.  
It wasn’t a long drop. He landed on dirt quite quickly. It was pitch black though, but Johnathan wasn’t worried. He knew this tunnel very well.  
He walked through the darkness, following along completely by heart. It didn’t take him long to reach the end. Then he pushed up on a secret door he knew was there. It opened without difficulty.  
He pulled himself up into a storage room in the school. He left the room and entered the halls. He looked around, his mouth agape and so many memories flowing into his mind.  
So many terrible memories.  
He walked down the hall as he recalled his high school life. He was not happy here. He experienced nothing but pain. It hurt to remember it. Why was he even here in the first place?  
He stopped as he noticed a room on the right. It was the school counsellor’s office.  
He blinked and opened the door. It looked just as he remembered, albeit a bit dustier.  
He walked over to one of the easy chairs and sat down. He spent many of his school days in this chair, complaining about bullies or unfair teachers, or just looking for a reprieve.  
The counsellor wasn’t a bad person. He was friendly and fair. He always listened to Johnathan, no matter how ‘colourful’ his language got. Johnathan doesn’t recall killing him during his massacre. Maybe that gun slinging asshole got to him first?  
Johnathan squirmed uncomfortably. Maybe it was just the environment getting to him, but he suddenly just really wanted to talk.  
“Hello,” he croaked, “my name is… was Johnathan Cessation.”  
“Why do you say ‘was’?”  
Johnathan looked around. Did that voice come from his head or another external source? He didn’t see anybody. So was it just his head?  
“Uh,” he stammered, “er, because I don’t really know who I am anymore. Actually, I haven’t known who I am for a long time. I think I just went by Johnathan Cessation because it was the easiest route. But now I can’t even do that. Johnathan Cessation is a disappointment; a runaway; a murderer.”  
“Murderer?”  
“Yeah, I-.” He froze and held his head in his hands. “Oh, god. I killed so many people.”  
“Why would you do that?”  
“Because.” He gripped his hair and shouted, “because they were all terrible people. They deserved it. They were scum. The kids beat me up, made fun of me. Even the other outcasts thought I was a freak. And the teachers didn’t help. They thought I was weird too! I even killed a fucking rapist! He definitely deserved to die.”  
“If you’re so certain they deserved it, why do you feel regret?”  
“I don’t know,” Johnathan sighed and lowered his hands. “Maybe… maybe it’s not my fault I feel regret? Maybe it’s like society planting the thought in my head. It’s the reason everyone believes murder is terrible. And for the most part, it is. But maybe death is the only way to stop these bad people?”  
“But you just said murder is bad. So doesn’t that make you bad for committing it?”  
“Of course it does,” Johnathan barked as he jumped to his feet. “I’m a terrible fucking person! I’m just as bad as the people I killed! Even you think so! That’s why you’re suggesting it!”  
“But of course you think so!” he yells as he stomps around. “You’re just a voice in my head, an extension of my opinions! I’m just talking to myself right now! I really am fucking nuts!”  
He stops and tries to catch his breath. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I’m crazy. I don’t think I’ve ever been sane. I mean why else would I be hearing voices in my head? Isn’t that like the number one sign for insanity?”  
“How should I know? I’m just a voice in your head.”  
“Exactly,” Johnathan exclaims as he points at a random spot in the room. “There’s no one even there right now. What am I even pointing at? Nothing, cause I’m crazy!”  
“Okay. So you’re a crazy, you’re a terrible person, and death is the only way to rid the Earth of scum. You’re having quite a few epiphanies there. What are you gonna do with all those realizations? Become some sort of vigilante?”  
“No way,” he replied, “I don’t want people to look upon my acts as heroic. I want them to hate me and be disgusted by what I do, just like with all terrible people.”  
He sighed, his adrenaline rushing out of him like a deflated balloon. He picked up his blanket and draped it over his shoulders.  
“But before that, I gotta start living better. I’m tired of being depressed. It’s pathetic,” he grunted.  
“What are you going to do about it?”  
Johnathan didn’t answer. He just left the room and soon the school.  
About an hour so later he was standing over Tammie and Sheri’s gravestones, yet again. He stared at them for a minute before bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.  
“I’m back,” he said, “I know last time you saw me I had a bit of a breakdown. But I’m better now. Much better.”  
“I’ve come to a realization that I’m pretty fucking insane. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Especially you, Mom. You always knew I was crazy. Or at the very least, you suspected it.”  
“When did it start?” he mused, “I heard the story of when I was born and I bit that nurse on the finger and wouldn’t let it go. But I think my insanity really started to show when I started to show an interest in blood. Remember? When I was ten I sliced my wrists open.”  
He rolled up his filthy sleeves, revealing the matching scars on his wrists. “I know Dad thought it was because I was hurting, but really it was because I wanted to see what if felt like. I wanted to feel the pain, I wanted to see the blade slice my skin, I wanted to see my blood trickle it out. I wanted to experience it.”  
He ran his thumb along the bumpy scar, a small smile on his face. “I don’t regret doing it. I know at the time I cried, but that was because I was surprised. Surprised by what I felt, surprised by how scared you were. But that’s all changed now. So much has changed.”  
“I don’t regret killing all those people anymore.” His smile turned maniacal. “They deserved it. They all deserved it. Especially that asshole murderer who killed the two of you. But I’m sure you feel differently. You were both too kind-hearted and selfless in life. You wouldn’t understand my reasoning. But you don’t have to.”  
He took a deep breath and settled his nerves. “I’m not going to go by Johnathan Cessation anymore. That’s not who I am. I don’t think I’ve been that person for a long time. Probably not since you two were killed. I’ve thought of a better name for myself. Granted it’s not too different or imaginative, but I think it suits me.”  
“From now on I will be Johnny C. Yeah, it’s quite similar to my old name, but you can consider that an homage to you, and how much you both meant to me.”  
He smiled a sweet, happy smile. “I miss you and I’m sure you don’t agree with my new life choices. But I do hope you’ll at least watch over me. I promise I’ll visit all the time, whenever I am able.”  
He sighed and stepped back, a big grin on his face. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a life to put together.”  
He spun on his heel and marched away, his blanket flowing off his shoulders like a cape. His grin widened as he thought about the next few days. He was excited. He couldn’t wait to start building his new life as Johnny C.


	5. Professional Street Rat

“Hey, Mom, Tammie. It’s been a while,” Johnny said as he looked down at the gravestones marked ‘Tammie Cessation’ and ‘Sheri Cessation.’ “I would visit more but it’s kind of a long walk from my new place. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I would stop and let you know I’m doing just fine. I hope everything is going well for you in the afterlife. I’ll see you another time.”  
A young Johnny C smiled at his family’s graves before turning and leaving the cemetery. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his head held high, and a permanent scowl on his face. He learnt long ago that the meaner you look, the less people will want to interact with you. And that was very beneficial.  
His scowl suddenly turned quizzical when his stomach rumbled. When was the last time he had eaten? He couldn’t remember. After many months of scarce food, he was used to not eating. He didn’t even notice the side effects anymore. But sometimes his body did get a little angry.  
He noticed a fruit stand up ahead. That would do. It would be enough to tide him over until he got home.  
He casually walked past the stand, his eyes ahead. When the seller turned his back, he ‘accidently’ bumped an apple. It rolled off the counter and he caught it, quickly hiding it under his shirt. Nobody noticed. But he still waited until he was a couple blocks away before eating it.   
Johnny had been living on the streets for over half a year and he had long gotten used to his situation. Stealing was something he was much better at it. He taught himself through trial and error, mostly error. He got yelled at and chased a lot, but he was quick and nobody caught him.   
Eventually he learnt how to casually bump small things off the counter and hide them in his clothes. For bigger things, just grab and run. And most importantly, don’t steal from inside a store. It’s too easy to get caught.  
Johnny leisurely ate his apple as he marched down the streets. It was a long walk back home and no need to rush. He was not even completely sure how he ended up in the North End in the first place. He remembered resting on a bench last night and then he suddenly woke up on the bus. He must’ve been half asleep.  
Stuff like that had been happening quite a lot. Just random, black gaps in Johnny’s memories. He wasn’t sure what was causing it. It could’ve been lack of sleep or malnutrition but it felt like something different. But Johnny just took it in stride. It didn’t cause too many problems anyway.  
He walked nonstop and continued well into the night. The dark didn’t bother him anymore. He had grown used to it since he spent so many nights awake. In fact, he kind of liked the city after sunset. It was more peaceful.  
For the most part at least.  
“Hey.”  
Johnny turned towards the voice. It was a middle-aged man, clearly intoxicated. He stumbled up towards Johnny, drool dripping from his mouth.  
“What’s a kid like you doing out here? That’s dangerous you know,” he slurred, “you could get hurt.”  
Johnny just glared at him.  
“I could take you home if you want. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” the man declared as he reached for Johnny’s wrist. But just as he grabbed it, Johnny whipped out his pocket knife and sliced open his arm.  
“Don’t touch me,” he grunted.  
The man screamed and fell to his knees as he gripped his arm. Johnny kicked him in the face, sending him tumbling into a nearby alley. He followed and held him down by stepping on his forehead. He lifted his knife and quickly cut open his throat. The man died instantly.  
Johnny wiped the pocketknife on the corpse’s shirt, closed it, and stuck it back into his pocket before walking away, continuing on like nothing happened.  
He made it home sometime the next day. He walked up to the abandoned parking garage, pulled himself through the hole in the boarded up doorway, and walked up to the third floor.  
In the farthest corner of the room, Johnny had set up his little nest. He had his blanket, some food and bottles of water, and a few clothing items.   
He quickly pulled off his current outfit and changed into a fresh one before lying down on his blanket. He sighed and closed his eyes. The chances of getting any sleep were slim, but he still wanted to try.  
Johnny’s dreams were dark and filled with mocking voices and terrible, embellished memories. He woke up in a cold sweat and completely freaked out of his mind. He looked around nervously but quickly relaxed when he realized it was just another nightmare.  
He lied back down and groaned. He had been having nothing but nightmares, which was why he wasn’t sleeping much. Why try when he would only fail?  
He peeked outside through one of the little holes in the boarded up windows. It was dark and raining. He smiled and rushed downstairs and out the door.   
He stood outside for a second and let the cold rain water wash down him. It felt good. He liked the rain. It was cleansing in more ways than one.  
He started walking, kicking up water on the sidewalk. The city was even more peaceful during a rainstorm than at night. He wanted to enjoy it.  
Johnny walked around aimlessly for a long time. How long exactly, he wouldn’t know. But he suddenly stopped when he heard something in the distance.  
It was music. Classical music to be specific. He followed it out of curiosity and came up to a warehouse with the doors wide open. Inside were a bunch of kids about his age. They were sitting around and talking while music played over a stereo nearby. One kid was standing by it and looking through some CDs, an excited smile on his face.   
Johnny walked in, drawn in by the music. Nobody noticed him.  
“Hey!” one of the boys in the group snapped, “Jeremy, put something else on. This is lame.”  
“Yeah,” one of the girls agreed, “we let you pick the songs only under the condition that you’d play something cool.”  
“This is cool,” Jeremy insisted, “it’s Beethoven.”  
“Fag,” another on the boys snickered.  
Johnny growled. “I think it’s great.”  
The kids looked at him with surprise.  
“Who’s he?” one of them asked.  
“I’ve never seen him before,” another said.  
“I was led here by the music,” Johnny replied.  
“Whatever, let them be,” one of the girls grunted.  
“Jeez, he’s soaked,” one of the boys commented as Johnny walked by. “You better not get my stereo wet.”  
Johnny ignored him as he went up to the stereo. He leant against the wall beside it and closed his eyes, completely absorbing the music.  
Johnny never listened to much music growing up. Just the stuff he heard through his peers, and he never liked any of that. He had no idea classical music was so nice.  
“Um, I’m Jeremy. What’s your name?”  
Johnny opened his eyes and looked at the boy beside him. “Johnny,” he grunted.  
“Do you live around here?” he asked.  
“Sure,” he shrugged.  
“Uh where do you go to school?”  
“I don’t.”  
“Huh? Why not?”  
“Can’t afford it.”   
“Oh. That really sucks,” Jeremy muttered.  
Johnny stared at him for a second before asking, “do you live nearby?”  
“Yeah. We all do,” he replied, “I go to school with these guys. They formed this little party for tonight and let me come along with them. It was the first time they actually let me come. I guess they just got tired of me asking.”  
He smiled sadly as he stared at the floor. Johnny cocked his head but looked away.  
“So uh do you like classical music?” Jeremy asked.  
“Apparently,” Johnny shrugged, “it’s better than some other music I’ve heard.”  
“Yeah, I agree,” he nodded, “I like this way better than pop or rap.”   
They talked for a few more minutes. Or, more accurately, Jeremy talked and Johnny just responded once in a while. It was awkward but not in a bad way.  
Then one of the kids in the circle stood up and approached the stereo. He started to reach for it, grumbling something about being sick of this noise. Johnny grabbed his arm and stopped him.  
“Leave it,” he grunted.  
“Let go of me,” the boy snapped.  
“Don’t change the music. It’s nice,” Johnny ordered.  
“It sucks,” he groaned, “I’m going to put on some better music.”  
“This is better than anything you could play,” he growled.  
“What do you know? You weren’t even invited! And neither was Jeremy! We just let him come cause we felt sorry for him,” the boy shouted, “now get out of here! You fucking freak!”  
Johnny snapped. He took out his pocketknife and cut open the boy’s forearm. Everyone started screaming as blood sprayed everywhere.  
A few minutes later, all of the kids except for Jeremy were cut up and covered in their own blood. They were kneeling in the middle of the room, crying and whimpering. Jeremy hadn’t moved an inch from his spot next to the stereo.  
Johnny was panting and covered in blood next to the group. He didn’t really remember hurting everyone, not that he cared.   
He took a deep breath and walked up to the stereo. He cranked the classical music and faced the group.  
“See? It’s not so bad, right? It’s nice, right?” he barked. The kids whimpered and nodded nervously.  
Johnny smiled and nodded as he leaned against the wall.  
“Why don’t you just kill them?”  
Johnny’s smile evaporated. He growled and rubbed his forehead. “Shut up. I’ll do what I want.”  
“Just kill them. They’re useless anyway.”  
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he barked.  
“Wh-who are you talking to?” Jeremy asked nervously. Johnny glared at him, causing him wince back.  
He looked away and grunted, “nobody.”  
“You want to kill them. So do it. Just look at them. They deserve it. They’re pathetic.”  
“I’ll kill who I want, when I want. You don’t get to decide,” Johnny shouted.  
“You’re crazy.”  
Johnny flinched. That voice didn’t come from his head. He looked at Jeremy and snarled at the terrified kid.  
“Yeah, I’m crazy. I’m fucking insane,” he snapped.  
“You don’t have to do this.”  
Jeremy’s mouth didn’t move. Johnny spun around and glared at the kids. “I know that. I do what I want.”  
“You need help.”  
“Shut up!” he barked and covered his ears. “You don’t know me!”  
“I know you all too well.”  
Johnny froze. He slowly looked to his right, at his reflection in a nearby window. At that moment he realized none of the kids said any of those things.  
He was talking to himself.  
Johnny’s face filled with pure horror. He fell to his knees and cupped his face.  
“I’m so confused!” he screamed hopelessly, “am I sane? Am I insane? What the fuck am I? How am I supposed to know?”  
He looked up and noticed everyone in the room was staring at him.  
“Stop looking at me!” he barked and punched the floor. He winced when he scrapped all of his knuckles right open.  
He lifted his hand and stared at the blood dripping down his arm.  
Tears started streaming down his face. He screamed with a dozen different emotions as he scrambled to his feet and raced outside. He wasn’t sure what he was running away from, or where he was running to. But he just kept running.  
He finally stopped when he reached the parking garage. He tumbled through the hole and crawled up to the third floor. He collapsed on his blanket and curled into a ball. A wet, shivering, whimpering, pathetic ball.   
Half a year. Over half a year he spent on the streets, living on his own with whatever he could get a hold of. He was stupid enough to think he had grown, to think he finally understood who he was. And yet here he was, sobbing and pathetic.  
What had changed those last six months? Nothing. He was still a lonely, sad, little kid. And that was never going to change.


	6. New Living Arrangements

Cammie Charmer marched down the sidewalk, grocery bag in one hand and cane in the other. She walked with confidence, her shoulders square, her head held high, and a stern scowl plastered on her face. Even with her limp, she had absolutely no weaknesses.  
She came to an abrupt stop when she saw three men kneeling around something in the gutter outside her house. They muttered as they poked and prodded at it. Cammie watched them for a second before noticing a hand on the ground between them.  
“Hey!” she barked and started waving her cane. “Get out of here! Beat it!”  
The men scurried off like rats, revealing their object of interest. It was a boy, passed out face first in the gutter. Cammie rolled him over with her cane.  
He was an older teenager, probably about seventeen, and he was in horrible shape. He looked like he hadn’t bathed or eaten in months. He was filthy and almost bones. He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back and a dirty blanket. She kneeled beside him and rested two fingers on his neck, checking for his pulse. His heart was still beating. He was barely alive.  
She stood back up and stared at him. She should just call the authorities. That would be the smart thing to do. She didn’t know this kid. Why should she worry about him?  
Despite that she still tugged her cane and bag under her shoulders and picked him up. He was extremely light. She hobbled up to her house and carried him inside.

A broken Johnny C coughed as water was splashed into his face. He wiped his eyes before opening them and looking around.  
The first thing he saw was a middle-aged woman staring down at him. She had really short black hair and brown eyes. Her face was aged and stern, like she had been through a lot. She was holding a cup of water in one hand and a wooden cane with a curved handle in the other.  
“Oh, good. You’re finally awake,” she sighed.  
“Who are you? Where am I?” Johnny asked, his voice cracking.  
“My name’s Cammie,” she replied as she handed him a full glass of water. “Drink this.”  
Normally Johnny wouldn’t accept anything from a stranger, but he wasn’t in his right mind at the moment. Plus he was really thirsty. He took the glass and drank it in two gulps.  
“Where am I?” Johnny asked again as he sat up and watched Cammie move to the kitchen.  
“My house,” she replied plainly as she opened the fridge.  
“Where is your house? North End or South End?”  
She closed the fridge and looked at him with confusion. “What?”  
Johnny blinked with surprise. “Wh-what city am I in?”  
“Los Angeles,” she replied.  
“What?” he exclaimed.  
“You mean you didn’t know?” Cammie questioned. “How did you get here?”  
“I-I don’t know,” Johnny groaned as he rubbed his head. “I don’t remember. I feel like I got on a bus at some point. Did it bring me to L.A?”  
Cammie walked over, holding a bowl of soup. “Here, eat something. You look like you need it.”  
Johnny looked at her suspiciously as he took the bowl.   
“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “it’s not poison.”  
“Why are you helping me?” he asked.  
“I’m not really sure,” she admitted, “it would probably be better for both of us if I didn’t. I should just call the cops, right?”  
“I would prefer it if you didn’t,” Johnny mumbled.  
“Why’s that?”  
“No reason.”  
Cammie watched him eat his soup for a few minutes. He had a permanent scowl on his face and his eyes were dark and narrow.  
She suddenly sat beside him on the couch and leaned in the close. “You have the eyes of someone who’s seen death.”  
Johnny choked and dropped his spoon. He covered his mouth as he coughed and looked at her with surprise. She looked very serious.   
“I know because I have those exact same eyes,” she stated.  
Cammie leaned back and tapped on her cane. “What’s your name?”  
“Um Johnny C,” he replied.  
“C? Alright,” she shrugged, “tell me about yourself, Johnny C.”  
“Um, not much to tell,” he muttered.  
“Where are you from?” she asked, “or do you know?”  
“Um, I-I think outsiders call it something like the ‘Nameless City’,” he replied.  
“That creepy place? I’ve heard a lot of rumours about it,” she commented.  
“Most of them are probably true,” he mumbled.  
“Do you have any family?”  
He didn’t reply. Just quietly ate his soup.  
Cammie stared at him for a second before taking a deep breath. “My name is Cammie Charmer. I come from a rich family. My father is loaded. But I never cared about that, as you can probably tell from my house.”  
Johnny looked at her with surprise.  
“I’m originally from Maine,” she explained, “born and raised there. In my early twenties I joined the armed forces. I spent a lot of time overseas until I got an injury in my right leg that gave me a permanent severe limp. I was discharged and went back home. But I wasn’t happy. I felt lost. So on a whim I moved to California. Got a job at a shooting range and I’ve been here ever since.”  
“Why are you telling me this?” Johnny asked.  
“Now you know all about me. So tell me about yourself,” she ordered.  
Johnny stared at her with surprise before looking down at his empty bowl. He was quiet for a few minutes before obliging.  
“My parents were killed by a serial killer when I was fifteen,” he said quietly, “a few months later he broke into my school and tried to kill everyone there. But…I did instead.”  
He waited a second, expecting Cammie to freak out or something. But she remained quiet. So he continued.  
“Afterwards, I ran away from home and lived on the street. I thought I discovered myself, who I truly am. I thought I was a psychotic killing machine who could rid the world of all those horrible people,” he snarled and clenched his fist. “Not like a hero. I’m not hero, cause I’m just like them. I’m horrible too. But now…I don’t know what I am.”  
Cammie stared at him with a serious expression. It was clear that this kid didn’t carry a full deck, but she didn’t really think he was crazy. Maybe just confused.  
“Anyway, I should get going before you call the cops,” Johnny said as he stood up. “Thank you for the soup. It’s been a long time since someone was that nice to me. I’ll be going now.”  
“Hold it!” Cammie snapped. Johnny froze as he was reaching for the door and looked at her.  
“You’re not going anywhere,” she stated.  
“Look, you’re really nice and I don’t wanna kill you,” he warned.  
She scoffed. “You think you can kill me? Then you really are crazy.”  
Johnny growled. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and whipped out a pocket knife. He moved to stab her but she dodged with ease.  
Cammie grabbed her cane by the back end and swung it, smacking his knife out of his hand. Then she caught his neck with the curved handle and held him still.  
“You’re a menace to yourself,” she grunted, “and you’re sloppy. If you continue on like this, you’ll kill yourself without ever accomplishing anything.”  
“So what? Maybe I’d rather be dead,” he barked.  
“Don’t say that!” she shouted angrily, “everyone has potential to do great things. Even you. I can see it. And I won’t let you die like this.”  
“What do you know? Why do you wanna help me?” he snapped.  
“I don’t know,” she said plainly, “maybe it’s because you’ve had the same lonely look in your eye that I’ve had for the last ten years.”  
Johnny’s face softened and his anger dissolved. Cammie took her cane off his neck and rested it back on the floor. They stared at each other for a while, completely silent.  
Johnny looked away, rubbing his neck. “I… haven’t had a place to stay for a long time.”  
“I can tell,” Cammie commented, “the couch is a pull-out bed. You can sleep there. I’ll set it up while you go shower. How many blankets do you like?”  
“Just this,” he replied as he handed her his little blanket.  
“Alright,” she nodded and took it. “I’ll wash it for you. The bathroom’s down the hall. Later we’ll go buy you some new clothes.”  
Johnny simply nodded. He trudged down the hall and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stripped down, and stepped into the stream. It felt great. He let out a long sigh as the water washed away all of the grime and even his stress, as temporary as that might be.  
Johnny stared at the drain as he let the warm water run down his back. So he was living here now. He was not even entirely sure how that happened. Still, would it be okay to call this place home?  
Probably not. For now, it’s just a new living arrangement.


	7. Johnny Gets a Job

A lost but relatively okay Johnny walked through the streets of the South End in the Nameless City. He hadn’t eaten in nearly a week, hadn’t slept in nearly two, killing left and right, and he was missing large amounts of his long term memory. But all in all, he was pretty good.  
After staying with the one person who could tolerate him since his mom, Johnny left to return to his hometown. He hasn’t done anything since his return, just been living on the streets and killing anyone who looked at him wrong. It has been far from a charming life. He has considered getting a job and actually living a proper life. He just hasn’t gotten around to it.  
The streets were starting to empty as it got darker and for good reason. In the South End, the things that go bump in the night bump harder. But Johnny wasn’t worried. He was one of the things that go bump in the night.  
He walked aimlessly, absolutely no destination in mind. That night seemed to be as uneventful as any previous night until he round a corner and saw two large men dressed in suits that did no suit them.  
They glared at Johnny. He glanced back and forth between them before scowling. He started to reach for his knife when one of them spoke.  
“Our boss wants to talk to you,” he said.  
“Eh?” Johnny grunted, freezing. This is the first time in months somebody’s tried talking to him.  
“He has a proposition,” the other added.  
Johnny lowered his hand. He was so taken aback all he could say was, “k.”  
The men led him to a very nice, swanky car. He sat in the back with two other large, nicely dressed men while the first two got in the front.   
It was quiet, hour long drive. There wasn’t even any music playing.   
They eventually arrived at their mysterious destination. Johnny was ushered into a large, fancy building between the four large men. He managed to get a look at the sign out front before entering through the automatic doors: “Mussolini Head Offices.”  
Johnny cocked his head curiously. Mussolini was the name of the richest and most powerful man in the city. He owned the biggest bank franchise and, rumours had it, ruled the crime syndicate. What did he want with Johnny?  
The men led him into the elevator which they rode all the way to the top. They walked down a long, carpeted hallway to large double doors. One of the men knocked.  
“Enter,” a voice called.  
They entered a large, rectangular office. It had a huge window with a view of the whole city and in the center was a long table. Sitting at it was a middle-aged man blonde man dressed in a suit.  
“We brought the one wanted,” one man said.  
“Are you sure he’s the one?” the blonde man asked.  
“He matches all the sources,” another man replied.  
The blonde man eyed Johnny. He glared right back.  
“Welcome,” he announced, “I am Celio Mussolini, President of Mussolini Banks. And you are?”  
“Johnny C,” Johnny replied.  
“Please, take a seat, Mr. C,” Mussolini offered, “I have something I would like to discuss with you.”  
Johnny sat in the chair opposite him. The four men stood by him, watching him closely.  
“Would you like something to drink? Some water perhaps?” Mussolini asked.  
“Erm, sure,” Johnny replied.  
Mussolini wove his hand and one of the men backed off to the other side of the room which held a minibar. He quickly returned with a glass of water which he placed in front of Johnny. He grabbed it and hesitantly took a drink. He was surprisingly dehydrated. He quickly guzzled it.  
Mussolini wove his hand again and the man topped him off. Johnny drank this one slowly and stared at Mussolini.  
“So, Mr. C,” he said.  
“Uh just Johnny is fine,” Johnny said quickly.  
“Very well, Johnny,” Mussolini nodded, “you must be wondering why I summoned you here. Tell me, do you know Lawrence and Gilbert?”  
Johnny shook his head.  
“They used to work under me. They were some of my top men. Until you killed them, Johnny.”  
Johnny raised an eyebrow.  
Mussolini produced two photographs. He threw them across the table. They landed perfectly right in front of Johnny. They were of two men’s faces, both beaten and bloody. Johnny recognized them immediately. He had killed them about a month ago. He couldn’t remember why.  
“Lawrence and Gilbert weren’t just ‘employees’ of mine,” Mussolini explained, “they were top officials in my underground syndicate. They were loyal, diligent, and irreplaceable. Normally I would have a killer of my men scalped and burned. However, it had never taken this long to find someone I was looking for. There were no signs of their killer’s DNA on their bodies. You had covered your tracks well.”  
“Clearly not well enough,” Johnny grunted.  
“That’s not your fault. I pretty much own this whole city,” he shrugged, “no one can hide from me here.”  
“So what now? You gonna get revenge?” he asked.  
“No, no. Quite the opposite,” Mussolini replied, “I wish to hire you.”  
“What?” Johnny exclaimed.  
“I’ve seen your- shall we say- work. It’s very masterful if slightly messy. You’re a very good assassin so I want to hire you as one; my personal hitman.”  
“Hitman?”  
“Yes. You see, there are times when I give loans to people, not from my bank but through my loan sharks, on the down low. And sometimes these loans are not repaid,” Mussolini explains, “now I like to think I’m a kind man so I give people three chances. The first chance is a phone call, the second chance is a man at their door, the third chance is a gun to their head. If they have not repaid by their third chance, they die.”  
“Shouldn’t you wait until after the third chance before killing them?” Johnny questions.  
“Do not question my tactics,” Mussolini growls.  
Johnny shrugs. “Whatever. So you want me to be the one to kill them?”  
“Exactly,” he nods, “what do you say?”  
Johnny tapped his fingers together. “What do I get out of it?”  
“A paying job.”  
“I want a house.”  
“What?” Mussolini exclaimed.  
“And a car,” Johnny added, “and my own cache of weapons, all knives no guns.”  
“I see,” Mussolini chuckled, “you’re a man who knows what he wants. I respect that. Very well. If you accept the job, then I will get you a car and a…apartment, not a house. And all the knives you could dream of.”  
“Fine,” Johnny nodded, “I’ll take the job.”  
“Excellent,” Mussolini smirked, “be here tomorrow morning and we’ll smooth out the details. Until then, you’re dismissed.”  
Johnny stood and followed the four men out of the office and back down the first floor. They offered to drive him somewhere but he declined. He decided to walk.  
The next morning he returned back to Mussolini Head Offices. He walked through the front doors. The lobby was bustling now, full of well-dressed working people. Johnny scratched his cheek and looked around uncertainly before walking up the lady at the front desk.  
“Can I help you?” she asked.  
“Um I need to see Mussolini,” he replied uncertainly.  
“Just a second,” she said. She picked up the receiver of a phone and spoke quietly before hanging up. “Go right on up. He’s waiting for you.”  
“Oh okay. Uh thank you,” he nodded before scurrying to the elevator. Unfortunately it wasn’t empty and he was forced to share it with a bunch of fancy office workers who gave him weird looks. He felt very uncomfortable and out of place. It took all of his will not to slaughter them every one of them.  
He eventually made it to the top floor and he hurried to Mussolini’s office. He knocked and entered.  
Mussolini was sitting at the same spot at the table, like he hadn’t moved all night. But there were two new people here now. One was a tall, brown haired young man in regular, street clothes and the other was a young Japanese girl in a kimono.  
“Ah, Johnny. Glad you came,” Mussolini said, “I would like you to meet Carson Larm and Suzuki Kyo, your partners.”  
“Partners?” Johnny exclaimed, “we didn’t agree on any partners!”  
“You’re the one who wanted an apartment,” Mussolini shrugged.  
“They’re my roommates?!” Johnny shouted angrily.  
“Ah, it’s okay,” Carson said quickly, “Suzu and I have done hitman jobs for Mr. Mussolini lots of times. We’re gonna show you the ropes.”  
“I know how to kill,” Johnny snarled.  
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he squealed and shook his hands. Suzuki just stood there, quietly and politely.”  
“You will be living and working with Carson and Suzuki,” Mussolini stated, “end of story.”  
Johnny growled. “Fine.”  
“Good. Meeting adjourned,” he waved, “I’ll call you when I have your first job.”  
Johnny left with Carson and Suzuki. He followed them quietly to their car, examining them. Carson seemed like a spineless coward but he couldn’t get a read on Suzuki. She was just so stoical.  
“So we share an apartment and a job,” Johnny said, “do we share the car too?”  
“I’m afraid so,” Carson replied.  
“Fuck,” he sighed, “I certainly got the raw end of this deal.”  
“Yeah, it’s not a good idea to make deals with Mr. Mussolini,” he stated.  
Johnny scoffed as he sat in the backseat and they drove to their apartment; his new home.


End file.
